Happier days
by Spy'd R
Summary: And thus the words were spoken, And this the plighted vow, And, though my faith be broken, And, though my heart be broken, Here is a ring, as token That I am happy now! E. A. Poe
1. Chapter 1

Inspector Reid looked up from his newspaper. The article he had just read, immediately transported his thoughts back to his past. It seemed long ago and distant now, even though it had been the happiest time of his life. Those words, had forced him to think about his life…what it once was, and what it had turned out to be. Now, in 1891, he was a bitter man, whom guilt had been branded upon his flesh; for the huge scar reminded him every day afresh, that he was guilty of his daughter's death, and his wife's unstable mental state, due to which she had to be moved to an asylum. The latter, resulted from his very own stupidity. He had, in a moment of weakness, told her some of his most precarious secrets. He sighed and looked down on the yellowish paper on the table. Edmund was glad, that he had not told Emily about his darkest secret that was at the same time, his happiest recollection. As broken a man as he now was; twenty years before, he had been happy, independent and hopelessly in love with another man. What he saw there, in the newspaper, roused such strong emotions in Reid, because it reported of the one man's death, whom he had then loved, like a man only loves once in his entire life.


	2. Chapter 2

Summer 1873

I stagger back. A hoarse laugh escapes my throat, to defend myself from being covered in kisses. I stretch out my arms, but he mistakes it for an embrace and wraps his upper extremities around my chest, like a cat in want for the tenderness of its owner. It is a rare state to see him in, but I appreciate it. We are young, and head over heels in love. "Stop it, Holmes!" I laugh again. "Stop it, please! I need a pause…" The aforementioned, young man, is of the same age as myself. He is of the same height, and his eyes are almost the same colour. Apart from that, our looks could not be more different. He, is slender, almost bony even, with a keen, sharp cut face that reminds the onlooker of a hawk; whereas I am well built; perhaps even chubby, with a face to match, large eyes and far too long lashes. He raises an eyebrow. "Holmes? Edmund, really?"  
"I am sorry. Force of habit…" I feel my cheeks flush with red. "In my profession, it is not common to address people with their Christian names."  
Holmes tuts. "You frequently forget how I earn my living, do you?"  
"How could I ever forget? You are the most talented detective, and I grieve every day, that you declined my repeated offer to join the force." He frowns, and turns his back.  
"I really see no sense in letting my liberty be taken away. In my profession, there is no one to tell me what to do, or worse; HOW to do it. The field of detection is not only my position, Edmund. It is my passion. Science, Chemistry, and human behaviour are my subjects, and the world is my teacher. If I joined Scotland Yard however, my knowledge and possibility to learn, would be endlessly limited, and I would end up like your Inspector Abberline; blind, but with my eyes open." He sighs, and his intense green eyes are suddenly fixed on mine. A shiver runs down my spine. I feel the hair on my neck stand up against my stiff collar. "I know, that you will make the exception of the rule, for your mind is open. You learn from what you see, and you are able to accept what seems to be impossible at the moment, to be a likely solution. And that; my friend" he rests a hand on my shoulder. "Is elementary."


	3. Chapter 3

Autumn 1892

Inspector Reid closed his eyes. It was four in the afternoon, but the light was already fading, making the room appear grey, and sad; perfectly matching his mood. He lifted his head slowly as if it were made of stone. Outside, the wind was chasing leaves through the streets, making them dance. Reid's eyes wandered back down to the newspaper. He still had trouble realising, that Holmes had died. He had always appeared so invincible, like nothing in this world could harm him. Now it seemed, that this picture was a wrong one. Sherlock Holmes was human after all. "The Death of the Great Detective". The heading read. It was not the first time Holmes had made the front page. A faint smile danced across Reid's face. It appeared and vanished again with the speed of one of the leaves that passed his window. He remembered the blissful evenings, when he had read Holmes' stories to his little daughter, Mathilda. A slightly knowing grin was always present on his lips, when he read. Looking back, it is easy to understand why. Because Apart from this lucky Dr. Watson and perhaps his dubious brother Mycroft, Reid was one of the few persons who had the pleasure to get to know Holmes for that what he really was: a man, of flesh and blood…especially the latter.


	4. Chapter 4

Late Summer 1875

I run as fast as my feet can carry me through the torrential rain. Despite the ever humming machines, and electricity, I can hear thunder rolling in the distance. My day has not quite turned out to my likings so far, and I am glad to finally be able to relax and see my lover…or husband as I sometimes lovingly call him…if I can call him anything but friend. We need to hide our love from society like commonplace criminals. Often have I discussed with him, about the unfairness of such laws. Because, love is love. It is pure and beautiful. If a man loves a man, so be it! I always was more than averse to the idea, of punishing someone, almost with death, just because they saw the beauty of another person…of the same sex. My chain of thoughts is brutally ripped apart by lightning. It is yet far away, but I can see it clearly. Blinded, I stagger down the narrow lane, where Holmes lives. We did not have the chance to see one another for at least two or three weeks now. I long to speak with him, to touch him. I try to convince myself, that I have forgotten his very smell, when suddenly, the odour of which I am thinking fills the air. Strange…there are still about ten yards between me and his flat. Something about this smell is alarming me. I have stopped for a moment, but now I start running again. My chest is aching from the cold air and the water I have already inhaled. With every heavy strep I make, water splashes to all sides. My clothes are heavy and stick to my skin. I have taken off my hat to be able to run faster. Now my hair is drenched too, and now strands of hair, cling to my face and drops of water take my sight. It doesn't matter. I have walked this way so often, I could, or rather; I can, walk it blindfold. I feel, that my being late, is by far not my least problem anymore. I wish, I pray to whatever God there may be, that I am wrong. I am not pious, nor am I active member of any religion. I cannot allow it myself. I stop abruptly. I can feel my heartbeat in my throat. My lungs still burn like fire. A taste resembling iron spreads in my mouth. My breath stops. Time freezes. The door of Holmes' apartment, is slightly opened. It is obvious that violence has been applied; most likely on both parties' sides. Eyes wide open, I follow the traces of destruction, until I reach Holmes' room on the upper floor. I can feel my heart pounding more than ever. I have to swallow, for I begin to feel sick. I am uncertain how long I can hold it back. I push open the door to my lover's room. I have to admit that I am afraid of what might await me. I manage to pull myself together, repeating the words "you have seen worse, Edmund" like a mantra, in my head. Only a few seconds have passed, yet to me, it feels like fifteen minutes. Time is running far too slow.

Blood. I gasp noisily at the sight. Suddenly, I see him. He lies next to his desk. Blood. On his hands, his face, on the floor, in his hair, trickling out of his mouth. What makes my heart stop for one blink of an eye however, is the vast, and still spreading stain of blood on his shirt. In a state close to hysteria, I fall to my knees, and examine him. Just when I begin to think him dead, his eyelids begin to flutter. Weak green eyes look at me...or rather through me. I am not certain if he is conscious…or if he can see me at all. "Sherlock!" I hear myself cry out. Reality has faded into a dream. Somewhere in the back of my head, I know that I am in shock. "Edm.." he coughs, and some more blood, exits his mouth. "Oh god…" Is the only thing I am able to utter. I shake my head, to get rid of the daze in which I am caught. "Do not say anything else. Save your energy. Hear me?"  
He nods and coughs again. A fog lays over my memory, for I cannot recollect having called a hansom. Yet, I must have done so, for the next clear memory I possess, is as I heave Holmes into my arms, and carry him down the stairs, through some yards of rain, and into said vehicle.

Finally, we are safe. His weak moaning, drives me to despair. I don't know what I would do without him. We are together for three years now, and I still love him like on the first day. It really is a love, like only few people have the chance to experience it in life. Holmes moves. "Edmund…" he gasps. "I am in pain."  
Never before has anyone said those words to me. I have no idea how to respond. Close to panic, I look around me, as if there was someone to tell me what to do. "I know…" my voice is low, but coarse with tears. I try to pretend to be strong, but I guess I failed at it. "Please, Sherlock. You need to listen to me. Whatever happens, do NOT, YOU HEAR ME," I raise my voice to a shout. "DO NOT CLOSE YOUR EYES! Do not fall asleep! Understand?!" All of a sudden, I grasp that the cab is not in motion. I half open the door, and shout at the top of my voice. "WHIP YOUR BLOODY HORSES MAN! THIS IS AN EMERGENCY!" To my consolation, I can hear the cracking of a whip, and feel as the vehicle sets into motion. I repeat our destination, and also tell the driver to hurry up, before I return to Holmes. Frightened, I realise, that he has closed his eyes, despite my telling him. My fear is somewhat lessened, as I see his chest rise and fall. I shiver. It has become freezing outside. Not even my hot tears can warm up my body, and my, still dripping clothes, also do not improve my state. I look down onto my feet. Holmes' blood is all over my trousers. Also my shirt has taken on a distinct pinkish tint. I don't want to wear it anymore! I want to escape this dirty skin, with my lover's blood on it! I shiver again. This time, however, it is not the cold which makes my body shake. It is sheer fright. I gently take Holmes' hand. Is he looking at me? "All, will be well, my love! If you only stay strong now! I promise all will be well again, as it was before this terrible day." I attempt to reassure him. If I only could believe it myself…

I spend the rest of this journey stroking his wet hair, and repeating myself, partly to secure myself, and to give him hope. Every time he closes his eyes, I almost faint too, knowing that, if he would not open them again, it would be my own death warrant too. After what seems to be a small eternity, the hansom finally comes to a halt in front of the hospital door. The thunder storm is very close now. "Edmund." Sherlock croaks.  
"Shush. I told you not to speak."  
"It's important…I must ask you favour. Would you…p-please inform Mycroft of what happened?"  
"Who?"  
"He is my brother. You-" another painful cough. "You'll find his address on my desk."  
"Of course my love."

I carried the hurt man into the safe building. Some medical men immediately came rushing to my side, providing a bed for my hurt friend. I only had the chance to squeeze his hand, before they took him in, and disappeared. I am glad to don't have to shout at them, for I know I would not have the chance to deal with incompetence in my current state. Never had I thought, that something crueller could await me, than to see Holmes suffer. But I am wrong. Waiting several hours; fearing for his life, and not being able to see him, are the worst feeling that there is. Nothing hurts more than the awareness that a beloved person might die in pain, and one has no possibility of even being near.


	5. Chapter 5

Autumn 1891

A mighty thunder forced Reid to look up. Slowly he stood up. With the intention of splashing some cold water into his face, he wandered towards the bathroom. Step by step; moving like a sleep walker. All this; this stupid AFFAIR, lay twenty long years back! How could it possibly upset him so much?! They both had found someone else, for they had realised, that things could not work out this way. Reid stopped in front of the mirror, and frowned at the face that frowned back at him. He was not attractive anymore. What would Emily say, if she were here? "What is the matter Edmund?"  
"What do you mean, my love?"  
"You are unshaven, your clothes are in disarray, and you have hardly spoken two sentences since you arrived at home four hours ago."  
Edmund smiled. He could picture the wrinkles on his wife's forehead that always appeared, when she was in sorrow. "Oh Emily…" he would know that lying made no sense. He would be trapped. "Everything is going wrong. It seems, that my entire life draws to a dramatic end."  
He knew should not say those words. Then again, it was only his fantasy. The voices, were only his own imaginations…however, they were becoming shockingly real. He could almost see, Emily's wide eyes, as his words upset her. "Mahtilda is gone. It is my fault. You are gone; it is my fault. And now…my best friend is dead too. It may not be my doing, but I have not exchanged a word with him, in sixteen years."  
Reid looked up again, glancing at his mirror inverted image, with half closed eyes. The splashing of water on tiles, suddenly attracted his attention. He badly hoped for something to distract him, but what he found instead, when he saw the open bathroom window, were just more memories, he had hoped to forget.


	6. Chapter 6

Spring 1872

The face in the mirror betrays my excitement, as well as my happiness. I adjust my tie, comb my chair and check my teeth. Hastily, I shove another mint-leaf into my mouth, to add additional freshness to my odour. As hard as I try, I am unable to banish the silly grin from my face. A slightly pinkish tint has appeared on my cheeks. It always happens when I am nervous…especially so when I am angry. I straighten my back, and take some deep breaths. My name is Edmund Reid; Sargent Reid. I am 22 years of age, and as much in love as I can be. Today, seems to be the most important day. With the faint feeling of shame I have to admit, that I act like a bride on her wedding day. The comparison might even be quite accurate, for I am waiting for my lover, to celebrate our first anniversary. It needs to be perfect. I have planned everything down to the smallest detail. Often have I told myself to stay flexible in my plans. When one is in a relationship with Sherlock Holmes, one learns to be so.

I feel my thoughts drift off, back to the days, when Holmes and I, were not lovers, but friends who occasionally shared their bodies to stimulate certain needs…human needs, some would call it. Or when we vented our anger on each other. Oh how I enjoyed those moments…  
Of course, I too enjoy the loving, little moments, the shared kisses and discussions…but the wild, painful, sweat-filled nights, that have become more seldom as our "friendship" turned into love, were most pleasant also…if in their own way. My mind returns to the present, and I look at my watch. He is already late. I roll my eyes. Another glance over my small living room, tells me that the fire still has to be lit.

I am about to stand up, when I hear a bell ring…a sound which can only come from the front door of my small apartment. Positively excited, I rush to the entrance, and fling open the door.  
"Good evening, my friend!" I call; my voice betraying my exceedingly good humour.  
"And the same to you, Edmund." Holmes replies in his dry manner.  
"I see the rain has taken you by surprise…"  
"Indeed." Holmes frowns. He is soaking wet from head to toe. Quickly I ask him in, and take his dripping coat from him.  
"Sit down by the fire, dear. The last I want is, that you catch your own death."  
Holmes frowns again. It is quite understandable, that he is not in the best of moods. "Yes, mother…" he murmurs, but does as I have suggested anyway. He stretches his hands out, towards the fire. His hands so close to the source of heat, that I, for one moment feared, he would burn himself.  
"Since…it is quite early…would you like to take a bath, Sherlock?" We had intended to use the time before dinner, for something else, but I feared that he would not be in the mood for it, regarding his shivering, wet, state. He turned his head quickly towards me, and shot me a thin, quick, smile. "That would be an extraordinary idea."

With only a nod as a reply, I went to the bathroom. My flat was one of the few in the area with running, hot water. My father had agreed to pay some extra money, so I could afford this luxury.  
I headed back to the living room, to inquire which bath salt he preferred. I had not the chance to ask however, for he surprised me with a beautifully wrapped parcel. "Already?" I exclaimed surprised. We had agreed, that he would hand it me later, at the restaurant. My present to him, would be to take him out to dinner. I am not a rich man after all.  
"Already." Holmes said with a broad grin. I take the parcel. It feels soft in my hands. I am utterly puzzled as to its content. "And you are sure, I may open it now?"  
"I wouldn't have given it you, if it were otherwise, Edmund."  
"Of course. Sorry. Thank you." I whisper, and kiss him. I start to unwrap the soft package. Like a waterfall, coloured silk flows out of the paper. I can catch it, before it lands on the floor. It is an Asian, silken blanket. Dominated by red, but decorated with colourful embroideries. It is the most beautiful object I have ever possessed. As I look up, with my mouth open in astonishment, Holmes' expression becomes almost a little apologetic; as if he was able to read the question from my face…which was most likely, indeed the case.  
"I deduced, that you love the Asian culture, and would someday even like to go there…" he blushes a little. "…simply be the way, you look at every Chinese sign or shop in the area. Thus, I decided to bring some of Asia, to you my dear." We lean into a kiss.  
"I-I don't know what to say…I" a sigh escapes my throat. Suddenly, I feel ashamed, for only taking him out for dinner. "I wish I could provide you with such a wonderful present…but you know, it is, financially impossible for me…at least at the moment."  
"I know. And I do not mind. Not in the least. Besides…" his eyes narrowed, and his kind smile formed into a sly one. "You ARE able to provide a most extraordinary present…"  
I could not hold back the laughter that his words had stirred in me. "Am I now…?" I asked rhetorically, when I was able to speak again. "Come darling. The bath should be ready. Do you wish me to join you?"  
"Certainly!" came the cheerful answer.

It is a fantastic sensation, to languidly undress him, and, in turn be undressed myself. I let my friend get into the bathtub first, for he is the one who had been caught by the rain. When he has settled, I join in, lowering my, (in comparison to his) heavy body into the bath. Here we sit. Now, both surrounded by water. The smell of roses and lavender, causes an undeniably romantic air in the room. We say nothing, for at least the first five minutes, so we can hear the rain, splashing against the small window. It is such a wonderful moment. I never want to miss it. I suddenly feel Holmes' hand move over my arm. "I love you…" he says, within one breath.  
"I love you too." We change our positions to lying. Our movements, cause the bath tub to spill over, a little. Water splashes on the tiles. I am on top of him now.  
"You don't want to…" he doesn't need to end this sentence.  
"No. It is a good idea, that we decided for a bath. Never could I enjoy sex on a empty stomach."  
Holmes laughed loudly. "Ha! That's my Edmund alright." He kissed me gently on the lips. "The only man who choses stomach before prick…"


	7. Chapter 7

"stop it!" Reid shouted out. When he understood, that he had screamed those words into the darkness of his bathroom, he was glad that a thunder had almost muted this outburst. A heavy sigh escaped this throat. He was certain that he was not in love with this man; Holmes, anymore. What was it then, that pained him so? Why could he not think back to those days without being _jealous_ of his younger self? He stood, thinking for a while; then his eyes widened abruptly. The solutions of this painful puzzle came to him as suddenly as the lightning outside. Happiness was the key! Edmund had been happy then…a sensation he had not felt for long now. Since _that _day to be exact…that _dreadful_ day, when his daughter had disappeared.  
The weary man closed the door behind him. Slowly he slid down on the floor. By now, his emotions, which had threatened to overwhelm him, burst through the surface, and changed into tears, as soon as they reached his eyes. It was just like back then…long ago, but still exactly the same. As if history repeated its infinite cycle in the shape of a lying eight. Like a perfect deja-vu.


	8. Chapter 8

Everything had gone so quick and swiftly, that I had hardly time to grasp what had happened. The only clear thought I can remember, is being grateful, not having to shout at anyone. After Holmes had been delivered to surgery, and all the medical staff had returned to their work, I hurriedly fled into the nearest rest room I could find. There, I locked myself in. For a few seconds only I stood there, trying to catch my breath. Then, overwhelmed by confusion and fear, I slid to the ground; my back always pressed against the faded wood of the cabin door. That is where I am now. Sitting here, on the cold tiles of the hospital toilet, that aren't cold anymore. My soaking wet clothes are causing a small puddle. I do not care. I just sit here- crying. I know I should not cry, or show any sign of weakness, but I can't help it. I am weak. Love has made me so. Never before have I thought, that harm might come upon Holmes. To me, he had always seemed invincible, and invulnerable. Now that I find myself confronted with the question whether he would survive the night at all, I break down. I suddenly realise, that I have become so accustomed with this wonderful man, and his sweet affection towards me, that I would not know what to do without him. I suppose I would be lost. Perhaps however, these are just the words of a man, hopelessly in love.

After approximately an hour, I am able to exit the loo, and return to the reception in the front on the huge building. There, I sit down, and can do nothing but wait. After two more hours have passed, a doctor approaches me. I jump to my feet as if stung by a wasp. "Doctor!" I exclaim.  
"Are you Mr. Holmes "guardian angel?"  
I shake his hand. "Sargent Reid, yes. Have you…any news for me?"  
"No…I'm afraid not…to be honest, I have come to suggest you'd go home. We will not let anyone see him before noon." I nod courtly. That is all I do.  
"Good night, Sargent. I really would advise you to get some hours of sleep."

With that, the medical man turns around, and leaves me standing in the empty hall. Alone, and abandoned. I think about his words, and I have to admit the he is right. Yet, I cannot go to sleep. The adrenaline and the shock are still deeply set in my bones. Making my way towards the exit, I think about what I could do, without having to return home…at five in the morning. Suddenly I stop. The least thing I can do to help Holmes, is obey his wish. I will go and see his brother, of whom I have learned only five hours before.


End file.
